Stupid is, More if You are Rich

 

Don’t Fly into Terrain

2/13/2026 an Epic 100 with four aboard flew into the crest of Emerald Mountain near Steamboat Springs, CO. Why my interest? That airport is where I first learned to fly. The best analysis I’ve found is here. 

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There is a perfect good all weather airport just twelve miles to the west at Hayden. Low terrain, full ILS, and a wide well lighted runway that will accommodate nearly any commercial aircraft. Still, the pressure of rich people wanting to do “The Boat” has led to putting lipstick on a pig. The Steamboat strip was “upgraded” enough to handle DHC-6’s.

Add people with more money than capability buying airplanes they aren’t trained enough to operate properly (think doctors/lawyers and V Tail Bonanzas) and shit happens.

Wind is seldom a factor at that strip and few locals ever landed or took off to the North. Off the South end you immediately have 200’ of elevation and a right hand turn takes you down the river and lower terrain. Straight ahead is a 9,000’ mountain.

So, WSF, you never took chances as a pilot? I most certainly did. One difference; I was always solo.

ICE

Personally conflicted describes my feeling about the mass deportations underway. On one hand, I’m all in favor. My reservations are based on actions allowed now can be used for other purposes later. What happens if/when the (P)regressives take back the Presidency? Will I get a pallet next to the stove at the reeducation camp?

Our on-line left wing newspaper, self proclaimed as unbiased, covers part of the question.

Bias? Early in the article we read, “mostly of people who have no criminal record”.  Ignoring that entering the country illegally is a criminal offense. Liberal logic? 

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From the article.

Dionisio Castillo, 53, tearfully recalled how two ICE agents arrested him at his construction job site in January without asking him any personal questions. Had they asked, they would have known he has lived undocumented in the U.S. for 30 years, has three U.S. citizen children and no criminal history. He spent 48 days at the ICE detention facility in Aurora. His family had to pay a $2,500 bond for his release.

“I was standing next to my truck and I turned to the right and I saw that the officers were walking toward me,” said Castillo through an interpreter. “They handcuffed me with my hands behind my back.”

Been here 30 years and needs an interpreter?  Been here 30 years and did nothing to gain legal status? Sorry, no sympathy from me.

ICE +Voting

Twenty Blue States demanding ICE pledge to not have agents near voting stations? Why, do they expect illegals to show up and vote? 

Up Yours, Gun Grabbers

Concealed carry in Colorado.

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Every legislative session more gun grabber bills get passed. I’m sure I violate some law someway every time I leave my apartment.

To the North, Wyoming lowered the age for concealed carry to eighteen.

Iran

I’ve put variations of this on other blogs and FB as comments.

PDJT has stated his goal is to insure Iran never has a nuclear weapon. OK, we probably know where all the facilities are, bombed or not bombed. Send in Sea Bees and/or Army Combat Engineers, backed up by combat units to protect them as they work, and utterly destroy these facilities. Salt the earth, so to speak.

Once that is done, get the hell out and let Southwest  Asian people go back to slaughtering each other as they have for millenniums.

 Oh, WSF, that is too simplistic. OK, why?

Car Story

 Montana Molesters

Among the very best retail car sellers I ever worked with were five men from Kalispell, MT. All had worked at the same store in Kalispell. They drifted over to Washington State for larger opportunities.

 They quickly became monthly sales leaders and greatly upset the old guard. I welcomed them. The more successful the store became, the more opportunities were opened for me. Let them be salesman of the month! Let me continue to be “grossmonster”. 

(We were paid on gross profit. Bonuses were paid on number of sales regardless of gross profit. One guess as to which, over time, put pleasing numbers on the end of the month check?)

 Their personal lives were chaotic. The parade of girlfriends, wives, infidelities, and after hour adventures earned them the name, Montana Molesters. Not my problem, I wasn’t a manager.

As always, YMMV

Cold Weather

Seems several bloggers are writing or commenting on cold weather. Guess I will jump in.

After leaving the Army in 1966, I was determined to earn a pilot license. I tried to get in the Army aviation program but a couple of evaluation rides showed I was unlikely to become adept at hovering a helicopter. There were even fewer slots for fixed wing training.

While visiting my parents, I was alerted to a company conducting an experiment to see if seeding clouds would increase snowfall.

A component was a string of recording devices strung along thirty miles of the Continental Divide at 10,000 to 11,000 feet. They wanted local people who knew how to operate in harsh conditions as the equipment needed to be operational while it was snowing. One of the people hired along with me had been a year ahead of me in high school. In high school we loathed each other. A few years later our feeling hadn’t changed. That said, we both knew how to work and survive in blizzard conditions.

These storms could be intense. We used a snow cat to go from site to site. Often the visibility was so bad one of us would go ahead on cross country skis to find the way. The other would drive the machine following the skier.  The temperature would always be below zero and the wind was gusting so hard the skier would nearly be blown over. We never calculated the wind chill. Fear!

The wonderful part of the job was I only was required to work when it was storming. That left clear days for flying. My father had always wanted to fly and we went in together on a 1939 Piper J-4, known in the family as the Puddy Four. We both got our Private rating in her. I went on to get a Commercial and Instrument rating.  He later bought a Cessna 182.

This seeding experiment was a large effort. To the West on a high ridge was a decommissioned Nike Ajax radar setup for tracking the chaff filled weather balloons. Further East on a high peak was the seeders. Sodium iodine was mixed with acetone and fed into small fan devices with propane burners. During a storm, the burners would run for thirty minutes, shut down for thirty minutes, etc. The data from the recorders along the divide was analyzed to see if there was a pattern.

This project ran for four years. I don’t think anything was proved but the people doing it were meticulous in their efforts. As an aside, several marriages with local girls were a byproduct. Those long cold winter nights, don’t you know?

The time spent with the asshole from high school didn’t change our feeling towards each other. There was a mutual, if grudging, respect for each other’s skill set. Our literal survival depended on it. That job was far and away the most dangerous one I’ve done. As I understand, he worked there all four seasons. Tough man to be sure, but an asshole’s asshole. A good friend from high school who still lives in the area and is friendly with him assures me his feelings toward me are about the same. Oh well.

#1,000

What to do for the 1,000^th  blog posting, other than amazement  I’ve kept doing it, and a few people keep reading it? Instead of some epic rant, decided to do something for my late Dad.

When I returned from the Army, the dormant flying bug became full blown. With some bucks in the bank, decided it was now or never. Snagged a job with a meteorology company that had a contract to study snowfall patterns. Great  job. We worked when it was storming and were off when the weather was nice. My coworkers went skiing. I went flying.

My Dad always had the flying bug and used me as an excuse to start lessons. We went in on a 1939 Piper J-4, somewhere around 75 hp, operating off a 7,000 AGL runway. As my father was known to say, “You by God learned what flying was all about”. The J-4 is a forgiving airplane at reasonable altitudes but hasn’t much margin for error at the altitude we operated.

We put many hours on that bird. Later, after earning his Private ticket, Dad bought a Cessna 182. He had become involved in Real Estate and that airplane helped put together several ranch sales in the region. He always said the ranch deals payed for the plane.

My Dad was one hell of a stick but was careless. He didn’t appreciate his son pointing out his lapses. Since he had such a domineering personality, I was about the only person who would speak up. He intimidated flight instructors. While he never bent one, I know he scared himself a few times.

We had a strained relationship all the years. He and my mother divorced after 33 years. Family joke. My sister and I tell people we are the result of a mixed marriage. My Dad was cows, my Mom sheep. My sister adds their marriage was a range war.

Around age 60, my Dad started to reinvent himself, for lack of a better description. He started examining his beliefs and ways of dealing with things. I’ve always admired that. He died in his sleep when he was 64, probably from complications of undiagnosed sleep apnea.

Two things I regret about his death. First, my sons never got to know him as they grew up. He was terrific with kids, just not his own. Second, we were starting to patch up our differences and we probably would have had a much better relationship. It was hard as I inherited his temper and my mother’s stubbornness, not to mention she was often a bitch on steroids, and I am sometimes my mother’s son.

I do have to cut my parents some slack. They grew up in the Great Depression in a Grapes of Wrath environment. Their drive to succeed was undoubtedly fueled by what my parents described as, “The belly flapping principal”.

In summary, if you have made it this far, thank you for reading this.

Front Range Mountain Wave Rain Shadow

When the winds aloft are from the West and a lot of moisture is in the air, you get something looking like this picture. Not every day, and not for miles and miles, thankfully. Think of a wave breaking over a reef. The break here returns to ground about 40 miles East of the Colorado Front Range. The area from the base of the Front Range to where the wind returns to the Plains is called the "rain shadow". From the air you can see the ground going from green to brown.

Flying through this will give you a five to ten minute break from the tedium of your cross country flight.

Seasoned airline passengers in and out of Denver have a good reason to depart/arrive either very early in the morning or late at night. 

Family Lore

This is a post about some family history for family members. It may be of interest to others.

My father’s family was in dire financial condition during the Great Depression. There was a total of twelve children. One passed during infancy. My father was number five in the birth order. Each year they did attend the Moffat County (Colorado) Fair where each child received their annual allowance, 25 cents.

One year at the fair, when my father was five, he disappeared while a barnstormer was preparing for his show. The brothers and sisters were becoming concerned when they couldn’t find him.

After the barnstormer landed, my father climbed out of the plane. He had convinced the pilot to accept his quarter to give him a ride. During the barnstormer’s performance, my father sat between the pilot’s feet. The story goes that he had a grin from ear to ear.

My father never lost his interest in aviation. His eighth grade education kept him out of pilot training during WWII, but, in the CBI theater,  he did make some trips “over the Hump” as what he called a cargo kicker.

In later years, he and I shared a Piper J-4 while getting our Private License. He then bought a Cessna 182. The man could fly an airplane as well as anyone you might meet, but was damn careless. We had a few heated conversations about that. The Cessna pictured wasn't his but is the same model.

He died at age 64, probably from undiagnosed Obstructive Sleep Apnea complications. I miss him to this day.

What's in My Bookshelves

Question started by Brigid at Home on the Range

http://mausersandmuffins.blogspot.com/2011/09/whats-on-your-book-shelf.html

Lots of books but this is a favorite. Published in 1999. Per the price tag, paid $28.88 plus tax. This book has given me many hours of enjoyment. Sits adjacent to Stick and Rudder by Wolfgang Langewiesche.

DC-3 Crash

A recent discussion with an old flying friend about a fatal crash we observed started some research. We watched a Frontier Airlines DC-3 stall and spin December 21, 1967 at Denver Stapleton Airport, killing two. This was the original Frontier. The name lives on but three different organizations have used it (bankruptcy, merger, etc.).

This accident was the end result of many miscalculations; the worst being a takeoff with a control lock still in place. You can read the official report.

http://aviation-safety.net/database/record.php?id=19671221-0

One glaring error in this report is the removal of the passenger seats. They were not removed and the cargo sacks were not installed over the seats.

I was working for TWA at the time as a cargo handler (attending college). Our airfreight facility was next door to Frontier and they had the DC-3 parked in the cargo area. This was unusual as most loading was done at the gates. Being an all cargo flight was also unusual. This meant I watched the plane being loaded. Being a pilot, I was interested and stuck my head inside.

At that time, the Denver area was home to several carnation flower growers. The carnations were packed in 3’x3’x5’ heavily waxed boxes. The DC-3 was loaded with mail tossed between the seats. Boxed flowers were placed in the aisles. Nothing was tied down. The pilot and co-pilot had to clamber over all this to get to the cockpit.

The following is for non pilots so the rest of this makes more sense. The movable controls on aircraft have smaller movable controls generally called trim tabs. These are adjusted to balance the controls so the pilot isn’t constantly working against pressure on the yoke/stick and rudder pedals. The small horizontal wing at the rear of a DC-3 is called the elevator and controls the pitch of the aircraft; that is, nose up or down. The elevator has a fixed section in the front and movable section in the rear. In the case of the DC-3, the fixed section has a limited range of adjustment. This give the pilot far more options in trimming the aircraft. The way weight is distributed within the aircraft is important, being referred to as weight and balance or center of gravity. This must be within certain limits or the controls won’t have enough force to control the aircraft.

My friend and I were at the TWA and Western gates facing North, he at the Western gates just West of TWA, when the DC-3 took off on Runway 35. Pilot can’t help watching takeoffs and landings. You could plainly see they were in trouble. In fact, the tower already had the fire trucks alerted as the DC-3 pitched up, then dropped the left wing and went in on the West side of 35 just North of the I-70 underpasses. The flames were enormous. One of the bravest things I’ve ever witnessed was the first fire truck on scene. Spraying foam, the driver went off the steep side of the taxiway directly into the wreck. They had the fire out almost immediately.

What I think happened was the flower boxes slid to the tail due to the high nose up attitude. The pilot may have been able to save it with the elevator trim had the cargo not shifted. Way too much rear CG to overcome.

The photograph in the paper the next day was taken from the rear of the wreck. Covered with foam, you could plainly see the gust lock.

I have no intention of judging the crew. The facts speak for themselves. The man in the left seat was a very senior pilot with management responsibilities. How much that clouded his thinking we can’t know but is alluded to in the official report.

So Hal, this is how I remember it.

On the road Saturday so limited blogging. Flying back from Atlanta (oh, joy).

Wrong Way Corrigan + Colorado Front Range=Death

Three people dead. Out of state pilot flying a Bonanza from Boulder, CO to Southern California. Tried going West via Corona/Rollins Pass. Bad decision.

Local pilots learn there are passes that should only be attempted Eastbound and passes that should only be attempted Westbound. Visitors need only to ask at any local airport.

You cross a pass at an angle, not straight on, so you can turn ninety degrees to head for lower elevations.

Think your super whizbang 400 can climb? I knew an airline First Officer flying his personal AT-6 who tried Devils Thumb East to West. Lacked 300 feet.

Ah, what is the use. The smart pilots already know this stuff and the arrogant ones won't be bothered.

Military Flying Story

Old NFO has some great military flying stories. Us mud dabbers can only read them and be amused. http://oldnfo.blogspot.com/

An Army flying story circa 1965 involves the rude comeuppance of a certain Captain of Aviation, T, by a Private First Class of Engineers, O.

Said PFC was a two year draftee from Texas who grew up in a crop duster family. By the time the Army called, he had many hours of low level flying experience. In typical Army fashion, he became a combat engineer while the Army was spending $18,000 or so to teach people to fly.

The PFC had a medical problem that involved a long wait for an exam. When there was an exam opening in Frankfurt, our unit was in the field, hours away. A decision was made to fly him to Frankfurt in a L-19/O-1.

Captain T was assigned the mission. His favorite diversion was scaring his passanger by pulling back on the mixture control until the engine ran rough. He would then put on a panic act until the aircraft was about 200’ AGL. Turning his head, he would say, “I’ve done everything I can think of. Can you do something”? He did this in the vicinity of the Main River, which PFC O knew went past Frankfurt.

The L-19/O-1 was soon about two feet above the Main River. PFC O stayed at that altitude all the way to Frankfurt, lifting over barges, and going under bridges.

PFC O said there was some initial struggle over the controls but most of the trip was made with Captain T’s hands in his lap. He said there was a large amount of vocalization over the intercom, orders being issued, and so forth, which he ignored, wanting to concentrate on his navigation.

Some veterans may remember the “Overseas Weekly“. PFC O was the subject of an article. The incident as reported involved alcohol, public urination in downtown Munich while totally nude, and his clothing being found in some civilian’s automobile. While he was a willing worker, some of the unit officers and NCOs believed PFC O had an “attitude” problem. Perhaps this is what confounded Captain T.

Denver Summer Afternoon

Flying onto Denver late summer afternoons can be real interesting.

Sorry for the quality of the cell phone snap. Next phone upgrade will include a better camera function.

Flying Story

Received an email asking for another flying story from the past. A Super Cub needed to be ferried from a small Wyoming airport to Colorado. My employer purchased it, sight unseen, over the telephone (his common practice). One June morning I was dropped off at the airport to fetch it.

The airport operator wasn't friendly. His attitude I understood. Operating at a small airport was a marginal proposition at best. Losing any airplane based there cut his income. Further, he loathed my employer as he made very clear to me. He refused to give me the SC keys.

The SC was tied down in a plowed rectangle approximately 200' by 500' behind a hanger. Head high snow banks enclosed the tie down area. The only access was through the hanger. When I asked the FBO for access he offered me the use of a shovel.

Failure to complete the job was not an option. Had I called my employer, he would have told me to catch a bus to any destination of my choice. After an hour of deep thought I made a plan.

This being Wyoming, a stiff breeze was blowing. The wind was blowing across the 500' dimension of the tie down area. Using a small tool kit I carried, I removed the key cylinder from the Magneto switch. Leaving the tail tied down, I prop started the SC after a detailed preflight inspection and allowed the engine to idle for several minutes. Untieing the tail, I dragged the tail over to a snow bank and lifted the tail wheel onto the snow bank.

After putting on the seat belt and applying the brakes, I went to full power and adjusted the mixture to compensate for the 6,300' altitude. Releasing the brakes started the takeoff roll. The tail stayed up and I was able to hold a negative angle of attack which helped the acceleration. At about 300' the airspeed indicator started working and I lowered the tail slightly. With about 50' left, ground effect kicked in and we cleared the snow bank easily. Aborting the takeoff was never an option. My plan was bring the stick back hard and bounce over the snow bank. Happily, that wasn't necessary.

Although sorely tempted to give the FBO a good buzz job, I refrained. Given the small world we all operated in, I know there would be a future opportunity to kick his ass. The trip back to our base was pleasant and uneventful.

The Super Cub is a great airplane. Even with 85 h.p. and 6,000+ altitudes it performs well.

Evil Airplane/X-Country from Hell

Another flying story has been requested. At the start of my short lived aviation career, I worked for a madman who bought airplanes sight unseen. After he bought one, someone would be sent to fetch it; in this case, me. One fine day I was dropped off in Lexington, TN to pick up an Ercoupe and return to Colorado.

The Ercoupe is a simple two place fixed gear low wing aircraft with a bubble canopy cockpit and twin tails. Looks like a mosquito. Entry is made via the bubble. Two panels slide down and you can fly it that way. They have interconnected controls and are stall and spin proof. You maneuver on the ground with the yoke much like driving a car. I find them fun to fly.

The Ercoupe I found was in poor condition and "out of license". A local A&P (mechanic) signed it off for a ferry flight and away we go. The Ercoupe has three fuel tanks, in each wing and behind the engine. The lines are inside the cockpit and the rubber hose for the left tank ruptured. Ten gallons of gasoline was now soaking my left leg. What you might call a potentially explosive situation. First, I slid down the canopy windows. Then, very gently, I started a shallow climb. This allowed the fuel to run to the tail where small holes are built in to drain condensation. The master electrical switch, conveniently located on the bulkhead behind the pilots head, I left alone and the radio I didn't touch. After an hour I started to think about landing. Paducah, KT, seemed to make sense.

Per my sectional map, the airport was five miles West of downtown Paducah. Picking up a sectional line, I flew the appropriate amount of time to cover five miles. No airport. The fine compass in the Ercoupe showed me flying Northwest. This compass was an automobile accessory compass with a price tag that said, "Gamble 39 cents".
After several tries, I figured out the railroad tracks from the map to the ground and followed one until, the airport! On the ground, I learned Paducah is one of the few places sectional lines don't run East/West.

With repairs made and clean pants, off we go until we hit Interstate 70. Hard to get lost following an Interstate. On a warm day, the average VFR pilot will climb to smooth air, usually about 2,000' above the ground. Keeping the Interstate off the left wing, you have an easy and smooth flight. Exactly where most General Aviation aircraft can be found, outside of Kansas City, an aerial intersection called Bonner Springs is located. This intersection is where large jet airliners are maneuvered for approaches to Kansas City airports. If one deliberately set out to create a perfect place for mid air collisions, this is the place. Here I am droning along in the haze when I see the nose of a TWA 727. I'm close enough to tell the captain isn't wearing a hat and the copilot is. People will tell you you can't snap roll an Ercoupe. Maybe so, but I did that day.

When I got the cursed Ercoupe to Colorado, the only instruments working were the oil pressure and altimeter. Did I mention the brakes stopped working? Fun, fun, fun.

Note to Dirty Al. The story you want to see won't happen. Statute of Limitations doesn't apply.

Mountain Wave

Standing altocumulus lenticular clouds.

Dangerous Pilot - Maximum Scofflaw

A flying story was requested. The following is definitely in the "don't do as I did" category.

Becoming a pilot is expensive. To become commercial rated requires 200 hours of flight time before taking the test. To build time I delivered and repossessed airplanes for a dealer who was as loose an operator as I've known. He always kept keys to the planes he sold under "full recourse" (In effect he co-signed the loan). Miss a few payments and had the plane "recovered".

In June 1969 we were looking for a Tri-Pacer and found it in Baton Rouge. I was the junior guy. While the senior guy distracted people I untied, loaded my stuff, and started the Tri-Pacer. No preflight except checking the oil. I started taxing and called Ground Control for clearance to the active runway when three or four men started running towards me. A long taxiway was in front of me so I used it for a runway. Lots of yelling on the radio by the controllers. Airborne , I turned right and headed North for Mississippi. Weather was bad and fuel was low so I landed in Jackson, MS. The weather got worse and I was stuck for the night.

The next morning Jackson was socked in. I knew the weather was clear thirty miles West and the cloud layer was about 1500' thick and clear above the clouds.

I was not instrument rated. The people at the Jackson airport were becoming hinkey. Looking at my chart, I decided where I would be least likely to encounter legitimate IFR traffic and took off. All my instrument training was "under the hood" and I had never been in clouds. The plan worked and 20 minutes later I was above the clouds. Another 40 minutes and I could see the ground.


I loved the flying but not the genteel poverty of General Aviation. I have vast admiration for the men and women who have made careers in GA - better folks than me to be sure. My short lived aviation career did help my later endevors more than anything else including college and the Army.